


the flood and the fire both run clear

by voodoochild



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Background Poly, Bisexual Male Character, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Open Marriage, Polyamory, Soul Bond, Swearing, Telepathic Bond, Threesome - F/M/M, gratuitous quebecois swearing, it's all shoulder and knee injuries with these two, kevin has a wife and a soulmate, teenaged makeouts, the threesome is extant but implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 01:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: Kevin feels it like a one-two punch: a back body drop from Sami to Roman where his knee twists, pin attempt that Kevin's own arm twitches for, and then a vertical suplex from Lashley that drops Sami right onto his surgically-repaired shoulder. (Soulbond AU.)





	the flood and the fire both run clear

**Author's Note:**

> Sami's out until at least next year, so this is how I deal with my emotions: writing iddy threesomey soulbond fic wherein everyone wallows in hurt/comfort and emotional pain. Sorry?
> 
> Title from Jeffrey Foucault’s “Thistledown Tears”. Takes place mid-Euro Tour 2018, around May-ish, and assuming the left rotator cuff re-injury occurred then. This is the universe where soulmates bond via their first touch and can feel what their soulmate is feeling. This is also the universe where Kevin has a wife and also a soulmate at the same time and they deal with that in a realistic manner. Love to Chloe, who encourages me in all my ridiculous AU thoughts and enabled both the premise and the threesome, to Sansese for the French translations, and to M for the beta (and more importantly, the Quebecois help).

Kevin knows about the injuries before Sami does.

It's the European tour, they always go a little haywire in Europe, leave the bond open while they're in the ring. No need to close the connection off the way they have to for television - because soulbonds are never acknowledged on camera, even when they're apparent - and the culture's so different in Europe, fans are less likely to notice. 

And so Kevin feels it like a one-two punch: a back body drop from Sami to Roman where his knee twists, pin attempt that Kevin's own arm twitches for, and then a vertical suplex from Lashley that drops Sami right onto his surgically-repaired shoulder.

Twist. Pop. 

Sami's not really feeling it, the match adrenaline still pumping through him, and Kevin's stomach just sinks, because the twist in his knee is settling into a familiar deep-burn and the sharp stabbing of a separated shoulder is shooting down his arm and chest. It almost hurts to breathe, and Kevin watches in fear as Sami rolls over after the three-count and immediately groans in pain.

_[It's mine?]_

Bondmates aren't literally telepathic, but Kevin swears it feels like that sometimes. The bond is a hurricane of images, emotions, and impressions of thoughts, and while other bondmates can't communicate easily, it's never been like that for him and Sami. Right from the beginning, it was as if they could hear whole sentences and feel entire moments. Now, Kevin cherishes it, because it lets them speak to each other in front of thousands of people.

_[Yours. Both of them.]_

_[No.]_ Denial. Panic. Sharp stab of fear in his/their belly. Too familiar - sweat, canvas, the Bucks' tassels, Kevin's knee buckling and the shine of steel. _[No no no no, what happened?]_

Kevin sends him /calm/ and support. The feel of being lifted onto the shoulders of their brothers with championship gold, and a sunset in Reseda, Kevin's arms around Sami's waist and the certainty of tomorrow. 

I have you, I won't let you go.

_[Shoulder off the suplex, knee from the backdrop. Breathe, cheri, let me take some of it.]_

_[NO it's not fair-]_

_[I know. Let me take some, please, I can help. Give me the knee so you can walk, I'm used to it.]_

Sami's rolled over to their corner, but his mental reaction is quicker - stubborn insistence of no I can do it, taste of blood on their tongues, three-am rehab pain waking them both up. _[Not again, not when we're together.]_

_[We don’t know how bad.]_

It’s bad, when it’s Kevin trying to be optimistic. Familiar black-hole depression ricocheting between them, Sami’s usual sunshine-warm hopefulness completely absent. Kevin thinks /love/, feels it bloom like a rose between them, and Sami’s return of it is exhausted and tinged in fear.

_[Please, not again.]_

_[We don’t know. Medics first, then we can worry.]_

Sami pulls himself up using the ropes, slides under them to where Kevin’s leaning against the apron. Their expressions are mask-careful; disappointment at the loss, normal concern for a tag partner. But they both wince when Sami tries to put weight on his left leg, and if he wants to walk, he’s going to have to let Kevin take the pain. The shoulder is throbbing, Kevin knows it, but Sami’s used to that kind of pain. 

The knee pain comes rushing in like the tide when Sami gives it up, aching-familiar, scenting of menthol and baby food. Kevin doesn’t think his knee really healed until Owen was well into toddlerhood, and it’s okay, Kevin can carry this again. Kneecap grinding in phantom pain, he watches Sami breathe a little easier, arm folded carefully against his body.

Relief from Sami, thankfulness in the burn of good coffee delivered so they make their flight on time, sinking apprehension that feels like peeking through an armory curtain at a 20-person house. 

_[Only until we get back to gorilla.]_

Kevin shakes his head as they make their way up the ramp, scowling and heeling, ignoring the crowd. 

_[As long as I can. I don’t want you hurting.]_

_[You can’t fix a separated shoulder. Or a knee tear. Not even you.]_

Watch him. It’s him-and-Sami, and anything is possible.

_[I can sure as hell try.]_

***

You only soulbond when you’re seventeen in movies. Or, if you’re Kevin and Sami.

It’s right out of Hollywood, the way he and Sami met. An IWS show he wasn’t supposed to be at, slumped into the third row and hoping none of Rougeau’s guys would tattle on him. A card full of talented wrestlers and amazing spots and stories, and then, lightning striking.

Sami and his Asai moonsault. Mathematically-perfect arc of his back and hands, the sheer height he got, it sent Kevin to his feet screaming and cheering.

Kevin had felt it right at that moment - this was his soulmate, it _had to be_. He was seventeen and overly romantic and he just knew, the way everyone thinks they know. But then Sami hadn’t looked twice at him after the show, hadn’t said a word when Kevin talked his way into a tryout that weekend. Kevin’s heart had sunk, the lowest he’d ever felt in his life, and locking up with another wrestler felt like inevitability.

He hadn’t known then about the odds of meeting your soulmate when you’re that young (astronomical, so far beyond probable, they're the youngest bonded pair in Quebec in years). Hadn’t known about the legal ramifications and compromises you make later on (say, when you meet a beautiful girl who you love with all your heart). Or about the fear you have that you’ll never find anyone, it won’t be what all the other bonded pairs say it is (yes and no, it's the best/worst thing that can happen).

But then he watched Sami fidget, sitting atop a pile of mats. Watched his hands curl into fists and Sami jump up to tell Tim to get out of the ring, he’ll lock up with Rougeau’s golden boy. God, it had been like fireworks behind his eyes the moment they touched, the flash of gold on their fingertips as they wrapped around opposite wrists and curled around necks.

(There were memories of stomach-twisting jealousy toward wrestlers called by PWG or OVW, of cold spittle on his seven-year-old cheek on a winter morning, the breath-knock of landing on cold grass off a makeshift ring. He tasted dates on his lips after fasting, felt the rush of a mosh pit at a Rancid show, looked for scraped-up knees and palms after falling off a skateboard. He won’t even remember these aren’t his memories.)

“I knew it was you,” he’d said, feeling Sami’s hands tremble.

“I hoped it was you,” Sami had returned, and Kevin’s breath had punched out.

The mental connection had come later, when they’d gotten out of the ring, changed into street clothes, and holed up in Kevin’s basement because his parents were out and Sami’s mom was always home. It had come curled together on that old sofa with the lumpy back, Sami all clinging arms and legs and accidental elbows and Kevin shivering and nuzzling against Sami’s neck.

Pleasure-fear. Questioning. What does this mean? What happens now? 

The pinwheel-constant workings of Sami’s brain, new to Kevin but still familiar somehow, and the realization that Sami could feel all the things that Kevin was yearning for. Had the same slow-burn want in his belly that Kevin did, the same heartbeat-fast knowledge of _[yes him yes this yes everything]_.

_[Yesplease, everything. Oh. OH, I didn't know this was possible. Softwarmgood no don't pull back!]_

Kevin doesn't *want* to, but it's too embarrassing: he's resting too much of his weight on Sami and he's hard and he doesn't even know if Sami likes guys.

Inside-out laughter like a puppy licking your face and a fresh-baked brownie. Memory - so perfectly formed Kevin thinks for a moment it might be his - of kissing a small, skinny boy in a swimming pool. 

_[Guys are good, girls are good, YOU are good. And mine, you're mine and I get all of you.]_

That first taste of Sami’s overwhelming kindness and possessiveness. Too sweet and lovely for Kevin to feel embarrassed anymore, and he reaches out with everything in him to take in what Sami feels like. Tries to latch onto memories or sensations, a sweet taste on the back of his tongue he wants more of.

_[No, we get each other. Do you know what you taste like? Not a rhetorical question, I don't know it and it's driving me crazy.]_

Sami concentrates, even licks his own hand, but shakes his head.

 _[All I feel is you-]_ Tart sweetness, cold mouth. Flash image of Kevin in middle school tapping a pen on his desk, watching wrestling in his bedroom upstairs. The smoothness of a ring rope against his/their back. _[Put your mouth back on my neck.]_

Oh, he's bossy, of course he's bossy. And Kevin can't argue, not when obeying gets him Sami wriggling in pleasure against him and that taste on his tongue.

 _[OH. It's pistachio and orange blossom and cheese, knafeh.]_ Kevin's confusion gets him a torrent of memories, weekends climbing Mont Royal, Eid feasts with his cousins, a street vendor in Damascus with trays higher than his head. _[You're apple tatin and vanilla. And moonsaults. And that invincible feeling of being in a mosh pit when your favorite song comes on WAIT what do you mean you hate mosh pits?!]_

It made him laugh then, but it was the beginning of fifteen years of unshakable trust and love.

***

Sami is lying on the trainer's table and Kevin is yelling. Neither of these things are ideal, but Kevin is sure as hell staying and sure as hell not letting the medics just tape Sami up and release him.

“I'm sorry, but you're not a doctor-" one tries, a blonde guy with about three inches of height on Kevin.

“I know what a possible fucking ACL tear feels like and HE knows what a separated shoulder feels like!”

“As I said, we haven't-"

“WE'RE BONDMATES. I KNOW IT'S A SEPARATION BECAUSE MY FUCKING ARM IS ON FIRE TOO.”

“Kevin,” Sami says, mostly for the benefit of non-bonds in the room. “We’ll go to a hospital, if you're worried.”

“Oh we're going, but I want your shoulder and knee wrapped properly, I want you to get a shot of something before you try to get up, and I want Hunter to pick up his fucking phone!”

“Hello, Kevin,” Hunter says over FaceTime. It’s barely past six pm in Connecticut, and Hunter’s still in his office. “TJ texted me about Sami. Calm down and tell me what happened.”

Kevin glares at the blonde medic. “Go find Scott Foster, he’s one of our trainers. I want him to treat Sami.” The guy rolls his eyes, but leaves, and Kevin sits down next to Sami on the table. “Hunter, sorry, it’s just that we know it’s a separated shoulder - _the same one_ \- and the knee feels like a tear.”

“ACL or patella?”

Same shiver of fear over both of them - icewater-terrifying, old-socks and jockstrap smell of the ROH locker room and another knee and shoulder injury - and Kevin slides his hand into Sami’s. 

“ACL. We think. I want X-rays after we get to the hospital. The guys here were gonna wrap it and load him with naproxen, for a fucking separation and knee tear, you gotta get some actual medics around here-”

Sami grabs the phone, tilts it over to him. “They were fine, I’ll be fine. Kevin’s obviously worried.”

“Should he be?” Hunter looks right into the camera. “Where are you pain-wise right now, and Kevin will tell me if you lie.”

“Five,” Sami says, and it’s right there in his voice that he’s fudging the score.

“Seven-point-five,” Kevin amends. “I took some of the knee pain, as much as he’d let me have.”

Hunter nods in understanding: his own soulbond works similarly, everyone knows the story of Shawn waking up in Texas screaming from the quad tear. Everyone knows sharing the second tear was the only way they finished that New Year’s Revolution match. 

“Is there any way you’ll go to the hospital tonight without Kevin knocking you out and dragging you?”

“Not a fucking chance,” Sami says, turning to acknowledge Kevin’s glower. “I’ll be okay.”

“ _Osti de tabarnak de câlice, c'est pas possible comment que t'es cave!_ ”

“I don’t know what that was, but it sounded angry,” Hunter says, mildly. “Sami, is there a reason you won’t go to the hospital tonight?”

“We’re in the ass end of Budapest and it’s past one, let me take the morphine shot and sleep. We fly to Rome tomorrow, I’ll go as soon as we land. Okay?”

“If Scott clears you,” Hunter says. “If and only if. And you don’t do anything stupid like tough the rest of the tour out.”

There's a 75% chance of Sami doing just that, if Kevin weren't around.

***

The benchmark for hard times: is it worse than filing the polygamy dispensation?

Because that had been an entire year and a half of paperwork and having their bond dragged through two countries’ worth of courts. That had been incredibly public questioning of what was “wrong" with their bond and every company they tried to work for putting in their two cents. Outright accusing Kevin of trying to escape a sealed soulbond, and being “concerned" for Sami’s well-being and worrying how it'd look for publicity.

It had been idiotic, and Sami had said as much in open court. Nobody was being set-aside, no one was being mistreated, it's not the 1950’s. Wouldn't he *know* if Kevin were somehow trying to game the system? And Kevin doesn’t know how it all worked itself out, but he ended up with a soulmate and a wife, and that had been a minor miracle considering how it had started.

(Le Kouign-Amann, because a conversation like this had required coffee and amazing pastry for potential bribery purposes, and they’d holed up in the blue table in the window. Karina had picked at her nail polish, then at her almond croissant.

“I'm around-"

“Three months, right?” Sami knows when it would have been. He’d played through six levels of Assassin’s Creed that night to try and keep the bond quiet, and he burns his tongue on his coffee. “Rome, it was Rome when - I, uh, figured he'd finally gotten up the courage to make a move. But congratulations?”

“Jesus. That's never getting any less weird, you knowing when we fucked.” Then, almost compulsively, “What's he thinking about right now?”

“Strangling Jimmy with a shoelace.” It makes her laugh, which makes Sami send it to Kevin and get a better idea of his emotions and mind right now. “To be fair, that's a lot of people's reaction to Jimmy. Now his ankle is itching, and he wants to make me teach him how to do a standing hurricanrana because Davey said he’d never be able to pull one off, and that's bullshit, of course he can. Now it’s how cute your nose is when you laugh and wanting to see if koalas are as cuddly as they look.”

Kevin's right, her laugh really is like cream puffs and espresso. Sweet and rich. Something you know you probably don’t deserve every day.

“This is so… bananas. Weird as hell. There are soap operas less fascinating than you two. Which kind of makes me worried about where that leaves me and the bean.”

The bean. The baby. The actual child that she and Kevin are having that everyone has assured Sami he should be jealous of or angry at. The child that he just wants to meet and watch Kevin coo over and maybe teach to ride a skateboard.

“I...have no idea. Um, I'm sorry if I sound weird, it's just that we've only ever talked on the phone or gone to lunch, and now you're pregnant and Kevin's going to be the best dad in the world and I'm terrified?”

She'd actually smiled and laid a hand on his. “Do you know that's almost exactly what he said? How great I'll be and how he wished you were there because you’d be an awesome dad and he was terrified?”

“Yeah, that sounds like him. We’ll both be terrified and you’ll be awesome.”

“You’re taking this much better than everyone warned me.” She takes a breath, looks down at their hands. “What the hell happens, Sami? With you and me and Kevin, because I would never want to separate you and I would never want to raise a baby alone.”

His heart stutters so suddenly that he feels Kevin’s /concern/, and it’s a quick _[fine, I’m fine, we’re good]_ which Kevin probably doesn’t believe. Sami just doesn’t know how to respond, he and Kevin haven’t talked about it, but Kevin’s sending _[don’t do it please don’t make me lose either of you]_ and Sami's head is starting to pound.

There’s no way this ends well, right? Either he loses the love of his life, his other half . . . or he’s the asshole who kept Kevin from the wife and family he’s always wanted.

“Let me . . . I’m not saying anything now. Just let me talk to some people. Tyler’s parents are both lawyers, I think his dad has permission to work on soulbond cases. OW.” He grabs his head and Karina looks alarmed. “Sorry, I feel it when he’s stressed out, and he’s been giving me migraines for the past two days.”

“If it helps, I’ve been in a worse boat?” she says, joking-but-not. Her smile fades as she watches him nervously crack his knuckles and stare down at his coffee. “ _Oui, nos vies sont chies._ ”

It makes him laugh. It both does and doesn’t help, but at least they’re in it together.)

Sixteen months of paperwork and blood tests and court cases later, it came through. Owen was almost a year old when they were finally granted the dispensation, though they'd basically been living in the same apartment in Montreal when they weren't on the road. Kevin had spent the first two months at home, but they couldn't afford any longer, so Sami had taken the next two, citing his rotator cuff. 

What ROH didn’t know was that it was either treat the shoulder or pay the water bill. He’d said it wasn’t a choice, despite Karina's disapproval and Kevin's screaming. It wasn't a choice because they were more important, and they're already compromising enough.

It’s a choice he keeps making, even now.

***

Sami is lying in bed in their hotel room, and Kevin’s claimed he needs to shower. What he really needs to do is freak out to his wife because Sami not only couldn’t lift his bag out of the car, he couldn’t even get his arms out of his shirt by himself.

“Are you in the shower?” Karina asks when she picks up. “What time is it over there?”

“Sami’s hurt,” he blurts out, sitting down on the tile with his back to the tub. It’s cold and it helps a little against his neck. He hears Karina swear in French under her breath and ask Owen to keep an eye on Elodie, they can talk to dad tomorrow morning. “The shoulder, it’s the shoulder, he couldn’t even lift it enough to get his shirt off, and the knee isn’t great either. Fuck. Fuck, I don’t even know what to do.”

“Breathe, babe. Okay? If - IF, Kevin - if it’s another tear, then keep him safe until you can get it treated. Did he get x-rays yet?”

He curls his free hand into a fist, thunks it against the porcelain. “Oh, what do you think? I barely got him to agree to a shot of morphine.”

She curses again, runs a hand through her hair. “Why is he such a stubborn idiot? He didn’t even get it from you.”

“ _C’EST NOTRE PRINCESSE?_ STOP PRETENDING YOU’RE SHOWERING AND GET OUT HERE.”

Kevin turns off the water with a sigh, scrubbing at his face, and he opens the door to shush Sami. “Stop fucking bellowing, it’s past two.”

“I wouldn’t be bellowing if you’d freak out with me and not pretend like a door is going to do anything. I can feel our stomach twisting.”

Sami’s pulled himself semi-upright, pillow still wedged under his knee, ace-bandaged shoulder cradled between two pillows. The bond is fuzzy from the morphine, everything like it’s being filtered through a glass of water, but it’s still there, and Sami’s right about their stomach. Kevin sighs, crosses the room and carefully tucks himself against Sami’s good side.

“Why are you both up?” Karina asks, stabbing her finger at the screen in Sami’s direction. “And why wouldn’t you go to a hospital, _mon lapinou_? They have some of the best in Europe.”

“I can fly-”

“On a shoulder and a knee injury, are you _kidding_ me?”

Kevin sighs. “You’ve met him. You know he never thinks it’s as bad as it really is.”

“Stop telling me it’s bad,” Sami hisses, unconsciously curling his fingers into Kevin’s tee-shirt. “You’re not helping, you taste like bad cheeseburgers and Red Bull, I can’t get it out-”

“ _Arrêtez maintenant_.” 

Karina’s tone is sharp, but it cuts through the panic-feedback. Her mouth twists with worry and the identical stab of /miss you/ from both he and Sami throbs just under their ribs. 

“Did either of you drink water in the past three hours? And by that I mean you’re going to go and drink a bottle of water each, and please, please try go the hell to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep-” Kevin starts, and his wife rolls her eyes.

“Oh my god, El’s better than you at that one. You both look exhausted, you’re going to be out in ten minutes. Just try?”

“We did. The feedback just keeps going haywire.” Sami’s tone is far too level. He’s shielding like crazy, and Kevin pings back a memory of Sami shoving him against a wall - six-month suspension, no booking, Sami pinning his hands and breathing _we’ll make it work we’ll be the best love you love you love you_ \- and present-Sami winces. “Oh, you fucker, stop, this is different-”

“How is it different? You won’t let me in and you’re pretending it’s going to be okay and I fucking love you, you idiot.”

“Yes, I know-”

“Oh, you know?” Karina makes a frustrated growl. “Listen to me, listen to each other. Is it as bad as some of the early years?” Identical shakes of their heads. “Are you 100% certain we’re looking at a separation and an ACL tear?” They're not, and they all know it. “Then feel whatever you're feeling _together_. And try to sleep, please?"

Kevin sighs, laces their fingers together: his wedding ring and Sami's bond ring, gold and silver. "All right. We miss you, _cherie_."

"Text me from the hospital, okay? Love you both."

He's barely clicked the phone off before Sami’s slid his good arm underneath him and tugged him closer. Buries his nose in Kevin’s neck, inhaling slow and shaky. Scared-angry pinpricks to the bond, Sami searching for a memory of the three of them curled into their bed in Orlando. Kevin paints in more of the details -early morning, kids asleep upstairs, Karina’s Aristocats tee and the smudge of her lipstick on the pillow, the feel of her waist under his hands, Sami making her giggle by tickling her with his beard, the set of blue cotton sheets they’ve had since before Elodie was born that they just can’t throw out. /Safety/ and /home/ and /love/, and Sami almost never clings to memories like this. It makes Kevin worry, makes him stroke fingers calm and slow over Sami's hair.

 _[We promised her we’d drink some water.]_ Sami shakes his head, grip stronger and memory held fast between them. _[Sami, let me up for a second. I’ll be right back.]_

_[I can’t let you go right now. Love you love her love the kids scared SCARED don’t leave don’t leave.]_

_[I won’t, I’ll never leave you, let me just get a water bottle, you’ve been crying for an hour.]_

He starts to argue, but Kevin sends him the recent memories - looking over while driving from the arena to see teartracks on Sami’s face, Sami scrubbing at his eyes in the elevator, his shoulders shaking when he thought Kevin’s back was turned. Kevin grabs the water, gets back as soon as he can to Sami’s warmth and boomerang-fear, tucking himself to Sami’s side. He tries to push it into Sami's hands, but Sami pulls Kevin to him instead. 

_[Kiss me, please. You know I want more and we can’t but you can still kiss me the way I need.]_

As ever, as always, Kevin can’t deny either of them this. Kissing Sami openmouthed and sweet, greedy, demanding everything Sami can give him. Feeling Sami’s mouth open under his, slick-hot slide of his tongue, pain-love-hope-fear-home all in one simple act, and Kevin’s hand cradles Sami’s cheek. Soft, gentle, and Sami whimpers for it. Kevin rests his forehead against Sami's, feeling Sami's breath against his mouth, closing his eyes.

_[I love you. I want you rested and healed and back to yourself. We can do this.]_

Sound like the tolling of a bell - low for prayers, not high for the ring - and Sami breaking the kiss to take the water bottle. Surrender of himself, and Kevin strokes Sami’s hair as he downs about a quarter of the bottle. He swallows, passes it over to Kevin who drinks half of what’s left, and Karina had been right, they’d both been dehydrated. 

It would be easier to sleep if they knew what was going to happen. If the knee’s torn, if the shoulder’s separated. If Sami’s going to have to do the entire rehab again. If he's going to be out for another ten months. If. Kevin doesn’t like uncertainty. 

Nothing will be certain until the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Cheri/Cherie - darling  
> Oui, nos vies sont chies- yes, our lives are fucked (Quebecois)  
> Osti de tabarnak de câlice, c'est pas possible comment que t'es cave - not entirely translatable Quebecois, but approximately, “Jesus fucking Christ, there’s no way you can be this stupid.”  
> C'est notre princesse? - Is that our princess?  
> Mon lapinou - pet name meaning “bunny”  
> Arrêtez maintenant - stop it now


End file.
